


Wash the Echoes Out

by missmollyetc



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Developing Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-03-01 10:58:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2770511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmollyetc/pseuds/missmollyetc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been three nights in a whole fucking <i>row</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wash the Echoes Out

Once is just because he’s—they’re both really drunk, and the second time it’s because whatever, but the third night Tyler stays over, he wakes up with a snort, and can’t catch his breath. He widens his eyes until the greyish lumps in front of him shiver into Jamie’s nightstand, and Jamie’s lamp, and Jamie’s chair heaped with clothes in front of Jamie’s closet. Tyler squeezes his eyes shut, and then opens them again. 

The curtains are thick in the bedroom; he can only see about a foot in front of himself, just slivers of dim light falling on the mess of their clothes around the room and the PS4 tangled in front of Jamie’s TV. He doesn’t know how this happened; he’s got the best internal alarm clock in the fucking world for hookups. He’s usually up and out the door before anyone’s awake. Anyway, it’s kinda weird to sleep next to someone, and really fucking awkward the next morning. Sometimes he takes a shower, mostly he creeps out, socks stuffed in his pockets and his heels crushing the backs of his sneakers. Tyler swallows, dragging his teeth against his bottom lip and biting the corner. He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but it must’ve been awhile ago. Jamie’s arm tightens around his waist as he shifts in his sleep, forehead just touching the base of Tyler’s neck. 

Jamie’s warm against his back, but Tyler’s cold all along his front. He slides his left hand down to Jamie’s arm, slowly curling his fingers around Jamie’s hand. His breath hitches when Jamie’s fingers twitch in his grasp.

Jamie’s great; it’s not that he doesn’t like the guy. He’s funny and sweet and when he looks at Tyler it’s like they’re really talking, not just passing the time in between practices. It’s just that Tyler doesn’t do this sort of stuff anymore, the fuzzy bits. He’s not up for it. He shifts his grip, and slowly peels Jamie’s arm off of him. The skin on the inside of Jamie’s wrist is so soft that Tyler can feel it catch a little on his fingertips, warm and thin over his steady pulse. He closes his eyes as he sits up, letting Jamie’s arm fall down to the bed beside Tyler’s thigh. The mattress sinks beneath him, barely squeaking.

He pulls on the legs of his boxer briefs, and flexes his toes into the carpet. He chews the corner of his mouth, and breaths in sharply. They hadn’t even _fucked_. They’d gone to dinner after the game, met Jordie and Val at The MAT, come hom—back to Jamie’s place to get comfortable and wound up talking until they’d just…fallen asleep. This isn’t what Tyler’s here for, he’s not that boring.

He stands up, head down, and jumps himself into his pants, both legs at once. His dress shirt’s lying on top of Jamie’s on the chair next to the closet; the collar smells like Jamie’s aftershave. Tyler pulls down on the panels of the shirt and lets them hang open. He shivers. Jamie’d cornered Tyler outside the men’s room, kissed him sloppy and slow, holding Tyler close by his belt loops, just the way Tyler likes. Tyler bites down hard, and winces; he stops chewing his lip. 

He shakes his head, and reaches down, fumbling in the dark for his socks. It’s cold at night, even in Texas, and the central air dries everything out. Behind him, Jamie sighs and the bed springs creak a little as he moves. Tyler turns his head, heart thumping hard into his breastbone. He squints. Jamie’s kicked off his covers, lying on his front with his arm over the spot where Tyler’d been, his hand is kneading the pillow. His stupid hair is falling in his face, puffing out when he breathes, but even in the dark he’s got that gorgeous mouth.

Tyler stands up, dropping a sock. He rocks his weight from one foot to the other, back and forth. He can’t stop following the line of Jamie’s solid back with his eyes; his hands twitch. He’s had better than Jamie. He’s had fucking models and dudes who should have been models, and some of them had come back for seconds and even thirds. He’s had a girlfriend who wanted to hold his hand in public, and bros he’d fucking die for, it’s not like Jamie is special. He’s not. He’s just…nice to him. 

Jamie sighs in his sleep, twisting a little, and his back hunches before relaxing back down to the mattress. He wears fucking Christmas boxers to bed, and the curve of his ass is stretching out the elastic. Tyler swallows as he zips up his fly, letting the belt hang loose. Jamie has the best shoulders, though; they feel good, like, really good under his hands. Jamie snuffles, lips smacking, and drags Tyler’s pillow to his chest. The pillow Tyler was using anyway, Tyler doesn’t have a pillow here. All his pillows are in his apartment, where nobody seriously thinks they can stay the night.

Jamie might get cold; he must be, if he’s hugging a pillow. Tyler tiptoes to the foot of the bed, bending down, and picks up Jamie’s comforter in both hands, shaking it out of its tangle. He’s not a complete asshole; Jamie’s his linemate, he’s not gonna let him freeze his dick off. He licks his lips, and shuffles back around, dragging the quilt up and over Jamie, kicking away the top sheet as he walks. He settles the blanket just at the curve of Jamie’s arm, where he’s holding Tyler’s pillow. Tyler’s fingers brush over Jamie’s ribs, right below the warm bulk of his biceps.

“Wha…” Jamie mutters, lifting up onto his elbows, and Tyler presses him back to the bed. God, how is Jamie’s skin this soft? His stomach twists. “No, shh,” he whispers, mouth dry. “Go back to sleep.”

“Kay,” Jamie says, sighing as he resettles. “See you…morning.”

Tyler flinches. He stands up, lifting his hand and clenching it into a quick fist to shake out the heat. Jamie’s feet are kicking idly beneath the comforter; Tyler can feel the right one bumping into his knee. He steps back, and then again, stumbling in the dark until he’s outside the bedroom, and halfway down the short hallway with the half-open linen closet pouring towels onto the floor, and Jordie’s firmly closed door, and then into the kitchen.

His fucking foot slaps into the back of a chair leg, barking across the wooden floor. Tyler sucks in a deep breath, and stops, catching his balance. He rubs his throbbing toes against the back of his leg. Fucking fuck, every _single_ … He grabs the back of the chair and stares while his vision whites out and then settles. The blinds are always open there, and street light spills out across the tiled countertops and the breakfast table that always has breadcrumbs in the center no matter what they’ve eaten. His toes curl. 

How had he let this happen? He eats here. He’s on permanent onion duty because Jamie always cries. The glass of water he’d had before bed is still on the side of the sink, how had he just… Jamie had scratched through Tyler’s hair and kissed him on the side of his head, that’s how. 

This is the goddamned third night in a row he’s stayed later than was safe. He puts his sore foot back on the floor. Tyler breathes out, hiccupping a little. He’d been tired. He’d taken a hit in the last period, not enough to bruise, but it’d knocked the wind out of him, and he’d been slow the rest of the night. Jamie’d kept letting him slouch on him, leaning back in the booth to steady them both. They’d held hands under the table—not that he’d wanted to hold hands or anything, it’d just felt like the thing to do. He crosses his arms over his chest, squeezing his hands under his arms.

His suit jacket is falling off the stool next to the breakfast bar, one sleeve drooping down to the carpet. He remembers walking backwards to the bedroom, curling his arms around Jamie’s shoulders. Jamie’d giggled, slushy with his little lisp, into Tyler’s mouth and followed him, unbuttoning Tyler’s shirt from the bottom up.

Tyler shivers, and drops his hands. Yeah no, this whole, he’s supposed to know better by now, with this whole thing. He’s better than this, this is… This is not Boston, and Jamie is no Brownie, and this is a mistake. He needs his shoes; he’ll ask Jordie for his tie tomorrow. 

He shoves the chair back into the kitchen table, and grabs his suit jacket, shrugging into it as he walks. The little entrance way is clogged with shoes, Jordie and Jamie’s sneakers and all their dress shoes, but Tyler doesn’t want to turn on the hallway light. The noise he made in the kitchen was bad enough. He squats down, and tosses aside a flip flop he’d left when he’d come over the day before for an indoor barbeque. Tyler shakes his head, chewing his lips, and feels for his shoes with both hands. 

This is just—this is not the new beginning he came for. He’s in a fucking nowhere hockey town, but whatever, trades happen. He’s plays good in a shitty town; it makes better press than playing good in a great city. The best thing about Dallas is that barely anyone gives a fuck about him once he steps outside the rink, and a block beyond it no one even really knows who he is. It’s fucking great. The city’s spread out so far in so many directions he could drive for hours and never hit anyone who recognizes what he is, or who he’s done. He could be any frat boy with money; no one cares. It’s great.

There. Tyler shifts up into a crouch, and shoves his feet into his shoes, right and then left. His toes throb in the thin leather; the laces are caught under his soles. He stands up, rocking back on his heels, a little dizzy. The house is quiet all around him, not even road noise gets up this high in the building. He flicks back the deadbolt, and grabs the doorknob, it just unlocks when you twist it.

Jamie likes him. The door is fake wooden paneling over metal, the darkest spot Tyler’s seen all night. Jamie likes _him_. He presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth, and feels his lips curving in on themselves. His chest hurts. He swallows, and knocks his forehead against the door.

Jamie asks his opinion on plays, and has the high score on Candy Crush, and looks him in the eye when Tyler has something to say. He scores goals like it’s fun, and laughs at Tyler when he’s forgets the punchline to a joke. Tyler tightens his grip on the doorknob, and presses his forehead harder against the door. Jamie rubs his thumb over Tyler’s knuckles when he holds his hand.

Tyler sucks in a breath, and blows it out through his mouth. He’d just fallen asleep. They’d been talking about getting puffy tacos at some place with San Antonio in the name, and Jamie’d been drawing circles over… Tyler presses his left hand to the center of his chest. He never just falls asleep. He’s never felt comfortable; it’s weird in other people’s houses. He’s never done it even once, much less three in a row.

The metal doorknob heats under his palm, the lock squeaks a little when he changes his grip. It’s not that he doesn’t like Jamie. Tyler’s got a lot of friends, and tomorrow he’ll make sure Jamie knows that. Jamie can’t know he’s special.

Jamie thinks he’s gonna be here in the morning. They’re supposed to get tacos. He lifts his head from the door, pressing his lips together. Shit. 

He’ll say good bye. He’ll say he needs to feed Marshall, that he has that timed bowl feeder thing, but it sometimes needs a smack. Jamie knows, he’d helped Tyler put it together on move-in day, and it’s never worked right. 

He turns around, kicking stray shoes out of the way as he walks past the living room. It’s easier to get through the kitchen now that he can see. This is perfect. Jamie’s always— Tyler coughs. Jamie’s slow to wake up, so he’ll be easy to talk to. He’ll probably just nod into his pillow until Tyler shuts up, and then Tyler’ll go sleep in his own bed, and a couple of hours later he’ll meet up for tacos. Problem solved.

Tyler takes the corner back to the short hallway, and sees light spilling out from Jamie’s open door.


End file.
